A Tale Of Beginnings
by mellis107
Summary: Chapter 2 is up now. Well half if it. I was a little worried it was a bit dull with not much hapening, so I'd be grateful for feedback before I continue. Thanks for looking!
1. Chapter 1

"Hello? Can I help you?"

"Oh, right! Yeah, sorry! Hello! I'm the Doctor."

The stranger grinned, showing white teeth and sparkling eyes as he extended his hand. Bob took it in his own, and the man, evidently called the Doctor, pumped it vigorously.

Bob felt the pasted-on, be-polite-to-customers smile he had had plastered over his face since the beginning of his shift widen into something genuine. There was something about this man that lifted his spirits.

"I was wondering-" the Doctor continued. He paused as he took from the inside pocket of his ankle-length brown jacket a pair of black spectacles. He popped them on and leaned over the counter slightly to read the name tag pinned to Bob's chest. "-Bob, do you have any vacancies here? You know, sales person, cleaner, cook? I'll do anything, me." The Doctor took off his glasses and placed them back from where they had appeared.

"I'm sorry Sir, we don't have anything at the moment. We filled the last position a few weeks ago. But if you'd like to leave me your details, we can put your name on file in case of anything arising in the future."

The Doctor's face fell slightly. "Oh, right, never mind then. It was worth a try. I'll not bother leaving my address, I don't really have one. Well, not one that gets any post. Well, not post from Earth. Right, time for plan B! Oh, Bobs! I love Bobs! They always seem so-" he paused and groped the air before him, as if grasping for a word from out of the ether. "-earthy! Do I mean earthy? Not sure. Bye then!"

The Doctor turned on his heel and walked towards the shop exit, nodding to and greeting the others in the queue behind him. Bob watched him go, watched his long jacket billow out behind him, as if it had trouble keeping up with him. Bob thought he could sympathise.

"Excuse me."

Bob, looked back towards the head of the queue. A small woman with a familiar Henrick's bag stood before him, her face stern and set. "I'd like to return this."

Bob sighed and took the bag. "Of course madam, what seems to be the problem?"

Bob didn't really hear the explanation. He was looking again for the Doctor, but he had lost sight of him.

"Any luck?" Donna Noble peered around the TARDIS door as the Doctor approached.

"Nah, they weren't hiring, apparently. Credit crunch or something I bet."

Donna tutted. "You twonk. Its 2005. The recession didn't hit till 2008."

"Well, thank you very much, Chancellor of the Exchequer."

Donna tutted again, turned into the cavernous ship interior. The Doctor followed.

"So, what's the plan now?" Donna asked.

The Doctor took off his outer jacket and threw it over one of the many coral-like columns that surged magnificently into the vast ceiling of the ship. "We wait. Till the shop closes. Then we'll do a bit of breaking and entering." He shook the sonic screwdriver, then bounded over to the central console, and began making tiny adjustments to the instruments. Donna had long ago arrived at the conclusion that these switches and levers didn't actually do anything useful, and that its was all for show. They probably weren't even connected to anything.

"I take it she'll be here?" Donna thought it was time she raised the issue.

The Doctor's hands stopped as the elephant in the room disappeared.

Donna saw him swallow, then smile. "She'd better be. If she isn't, something would've gone terribly wrong with time. Not that I'll actually see her. Or her me. That would be bad. Very bad. It would upset the causal nexus that binds the universe together and....bad stuff would happen."

"Wibley-wobbley timey-wimey?"

"Yeah that. See? You're picking things up. Soon be as clever as I am."

"God, I can hardly wait."

"Oi!"

"Oi yourself, Spaceman."

Donna joined the Doctor at the console. She put one hand on his shoulder and squeezed. The Doctor looked at it, then lifted his head to look into her eyes.

Donna said softly, "I know it must be hard for you. I'm not sure I could do it. That any human could do it. Resist that temptation to see her again."

The Doctor smiled again, but this time the smile didn't reach his eyes.

Bob gave a silent prayer of thanks as he saw the big clock over the shop floor turn 5pm and the end of his shift. Finally, he could get out of here, away from the Customer Service desk, away from the nagging customers with their stupid problems. Back home. At least he would get some peace and quiet there. Perhaps a bit too much peace.

He pushed that particular thought to the back of his mind and tried not to think about the empty flat waiting for him.

"OK Bob, you can go now," called Mr Melia, the Manager, from across the floor.

Too right I can, you stuffy little arse, Bob thought. "Right, thank you sir," was all Bob said, and did his best to raise a little smile.

He looked out of the large glass windows to the street beyond. The shoppers were thinning out now and most had began making their way home. Across the street he spied a blue box. A Police Telephone Box if he wasn't mistaken. He thought he'd seen another in an alley further down the street this morning on his way to work. Maybe they were making a come back.

He made his way to the staff room, beyond the pristine clothing floor of Henricks Department Store. He wound his way up the bare and industrial staircase to the top floor where the staff room was located, joining the throng of employees as they all proceeded to collect their belongings and make their way home. The building would be empty in ten minutes. Except for Mr Melia and the cleaners. And Wilson, of course. That man seemed to live in this building.

Bob listened to the gabble of conversation from the people around him, but no one tried to engage him in small talk. Not that Bob was sorry for that, because most of it seemed to concern inane subjects that Bob couldn't care enough about to gather interest to even feign a polite conversation; Big Brother, Hello Magazine, WAGS (whatever they were). Shallow.

As he reached the staff room, Bob went to his locker, unlocked it and began to sort through his things. There was a sharp tap on his shoulder and Bob turned ready to give whoever it was a piece of his mind.

Standing before him was a young girl. Blonde, about 19 and with a wide smile that transferred to her eyes effortlessly. "Have you got your pound?" she asked.

"Sorry?"

"Your pound? You know, for the lottery?"

Bob eyes her suspiciously. "I thought Lynda collected all the lottery money?"

"She left. Got a job on a cruise liner. Singer or something. So I got the job." She held out her hand. "I don't think we've met. I haven't been here long. I'm Rose. Rose Tyler."


	2. Chapter 2

Bob reach out and took Rose's hand in his own. Rose's smile widened and Bob couldn't help the smile that spread across his own face. "I'm Bob," he said. He was reminded of the stranger from this afternoon. The Doctor fellow. They both had the same twinkle in their eyes. Bob wondered if they were related. Or friends.

"Hello, Bob," Rose replied. "So, have you got it?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Your pound. For the lottery. Are you OK?" A slight laugh.

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you." And Bob meant it. It occurred to him that this was the first time anyone in this place had asked him if he was OK, despite the seven years he had worked there. Bob was lucky if anyone said hello to him in the mornings, never mind enquire into his well-being.

He turned and reached inside his locker. He offered his one pound coin to Rose, who popped it into a brown envelope. He heard the crash if metal on metal as it joined the other coins.

"Thanks," Rose said, as she crossed out Bob's name on the small notepad she carried in her other hand.

The staff room was slowly clearing now, as the employees made their way out, and onto wherever these people went after a shift. Bob saw one woman pause in the doorway and look back over the milling crowd. She laid eyes on Rose and shouted across. "Rose! Rose! Are you coming, or what?"

Rose looked round, then waved to the woman. "Just a sec Sandra, I'll be one minute." Sandra waved back, then continued on her way.

She turned back to Bob. "Do you fancy going for a drink? There's a few of us off to that Witherspoons round the corner, maybe get something to eat as well. I'm starving."

"I don't think so, no. Thanks for the invite though. Its appreciated."

"You sure? You'll be missing out. I'm sure Trevor's gonna have too much to drink and try it on with _someone_. Its like a law or something. That'll be a laugh for a start."

Bob pictured his empty flat waiting for him, his microwave meal and the TV for company. Then he pictured the pub, full of noise and people and laughter. But he didn't really know, or like, these people. He'd feel awkward, out of his depth and comfort zone. These people didn't really know, or like, him. Any conversation would be small-talk and done out of politeness, and so the awkwardness would increase. Bob's mind went back to the Christmas Party three years ago, where he had spent the entire time sat on his own, listening to the music and watching other enjoying themselves. Somehow that had made him feel worse.

"No, sorry. Maybe next time eh? These people don't want me there."

"Oh, Never mind about them." Rose's face turned serious, and there was such compassion in her eyes now. "I've invited you. You're part of the team, aren't you? I'd like you to come. I don't know that many people here, and to be honest, most of them are a bit shallow for my taste. I'm looking for a bit of sophistication and intelligence in my conversations." She leaned forward and whispered "I'm not sure Trevor could even spell 'intelligence'."

Rose laughed at her own joke and Bob joined in. She was right, or course. "What the hell. Alright, you're on. Just promise me one thing? Don't leave me with Trevor?"

Rose laughed again and promised that she wouldn't.

Bob closed and locked his locker. He put on his jacket and checked his pockets for his watch, wallet and mobile phone. It was something he always did when he went anywhere. Bob wondered if he had a slight OCD.

Rose went over to her own locker, unlocked it, deposited the lottery envelope and notebook, then locked it up again. "I'll have to remember to give that to Wilson tomorrow. He can keep it in the safe."

"Er, Bob? Can I have just a quick word?" The voice came from the doorway and Bob recognised it at once. He turned to see Mr. Melia. His pristine grey suit and black moustache looked as perfect now as they did first thing this morning. His name-tag was perfectly straight, as was his greased back black hair. Bob hated the little man. "Bob, would you mind doing me a favour? It really would be a big help."

Melia smiled his fake smile, showing his white teeth through thin red lips. It was the smile he used when trying to coerce his staff into doing something they really wouldn't want to do. Bob was very familiar with this particular smile.

"We have a delivery arriving in a couple of minutes. I'd be grateful if you'd stay behind for half an hour and help unload?"

"Well, Mr Melia, I was was just about to go with Rose here-"

Melia interrupted Bob's explanation with a widened smile "Of course, there would be overtime pay, and I would be very grateful if you could help out just this once."

Of course, it wasn't 'just this once' Bob thought. Melia always asked him for help when there was any extra work to be done. I suppose he thought that Bob didn't have anything or anyone to get home for. Bob supposed he was usually right. But not this time. This time Bob had plans. He had an opportunity to get out of the flat for an evening, out of the rut, to dip a toe in the ocean of socialisation. And this Rose girl seemed like someone to hold his hand.

"I'm sorry Mr Melia, but I have plans."

Melia cast his gaze over to Rose, and his disbelieving expression told Bob all he needed to know about what was going inside the repulsive Manager's mind.

"I'll tell you what," said Rose. "I'll give you a hand. It'll be half the work that way, and we'll both get to the pub before they stop serving. How'd that be?"

She cast a questioning look at Melia, who replied, "Excellent, Miss Tyler. Its nice to see employees putting the company before their depraved private lives."

He turned a strode out of the room. As he disappeared, Bob heard him call back. "Loading Bay. The truck will be here momentarily."

Bob and Rose stripped off their outer jackets, locked them away, and made their way to the basement loading bay.

The loading bay was located beneath street level, directly under the ground floor shop area. Any vehicles making deliveries was required to descend a ramp, accessible from the main road outside. Once goods had been delivered, they were transported to the relevant floor via the large cargo elevator.

As Bob and Rose opened the access door into the lading bay, they heard the steady rhythmic 'beep, beep' of truck, evidently reversing into the bay from the main street above. Melia was watching it, guiding the driver into position with a wave of his hand. "OK," he called as the back of the truck drew level with the loading platform.

As the truck drew to a halt, Bob noticed the sign written on the side "Autonomy Plastics". He and Rose walked over the the back of the truck, and waited for the driver to unlock the back shutter. As they waited, Bob asked "What happened to the usual lot? I thought the Crawford's had been supplying our mannequins for ages?"

Melia snapped his head and looked sharply at Bob. "Well, when company policy becomes any of your business, Bob I'll be sure to keep you informed." he turned back to face the truck, his hand clasped behind his back.

"Oi, pal," began Rose. "We're doing you a favour here. I don't think there's any need for sarcasm."

Melia didn't even turn to look Rose in the eye as he replied, "Miss Tyler, I'll forgive your attitude this once, as you're new. But be warned, I don't take attitude from silly girls. Any more of that and I'll have you back on the unemployment statistics faster that you can say 'chav'."

Rose visibly bristled at this, and opened her mouth the give this trumped up little man a ear-bashing. However, before she could utter a word, Melia continued. "However, if you must know, Autonomy Plastics proved to be much more competitive that Crawford's. The order to use them has come from the top. I believe they are now supplying most of the clothing shops in the area these days. We're the last to get our delivery of mannequins."

By the time Melia had finished his little lecture, the fire had gone out of Rose's face and she just looked at Melia, then Bob.

The door to the cab of the truck opened, and a man climbed down. As he began to walk towards them, Bob noticed the man moved a little stiffly. His actions were precise and slightly mechanical, not fluid. Perhaps he had a disability of some kind? He whispered to Rose, "This one seems a bit odd don't you think?"

"Yeah, I see what you mean," replied Rose. "Look at his face for a start. Looks a bit shiny. Never heard of your T-Zone, mate?"

It was as if the driver hadn't even heard Roses' comment. He simply carried n walking towards them. Eventually he reached the back of the truck, and in his slow, mechanical way lifted the shutter.

Inside, Bob could see mannequin after mannequin stood silently, like an army waiting for action. They weren't even covered in plastic protective sheets as they usually were. Perhaps this was why this new lot were so cheap – cutting costs.

Another odd thing struck Bob then. The mannequins weren't naked. Or rather, they were wearing clothes. He had never unloaded brand new mannequins that were fully dressed. Especially in clothes that Henrick's didn't even sell. He could tell the styles even from here and nothing was familiar. "Mr Melia, I think these dummies are second hand. Look, they're wearing another store's stock."

"Everything is in order," was the only reply Bob received.

The driver returned to his cab.

"We must be starting some new lines," Rose offered.

"Yeah, probably," said Bob, but he wasn't convinced. More evident cutbacks from the new company – someone else's dummies!

"Right you two, carry on," said Melia.

Rose saluted in the direction of Melia, who looked back in barely-disguised contempt. Bob merely walked into the back of the truck. It wasn't worth the effort to wind Melia up. Rose would learn that it time.

He picked up the first mannequin, and noticed it seemed slightly heavier than the usual ones. It was as if there was more to it, more substance. Bob chalked it up to it being a different supplier, and just a further oddity about this whole situation.

"Where do you want them, Mr Melia?" asked Bob.

"Oh, just line them up in the main corridor. Merchandising can sort them out in the morning."

"Right you are, Guv," shouted Rose, as she hefted her own dummy. "Christ, these are a bit heavy aren't they?"

"Do you need a had? Perhaps we could do one between us?" Offered Bob.

"Nah, I'll be OK."

They began to man-handles the mannequins into the building, through the large double swing doors, and into the long corridor that ran centrally through the basement level. From this corridor, various store rooms, utility cupboards and Wilson's office, ran off. It was lit by dull strip lights that ran down its length.

They worked mostly silently, carrying the dummies to their positions, all the while supervised by Melia. The driver, sat up in his cab, didn't offer to help.

They had almost half of the dummies into the building. Bob saw the sweat beginning to form on Rose's brow. Evidently the manual work was getting to her. Young people today.

"If I'd have known it would have been this hard, I'd have left you to it," she said as she walked back to the truck with Bob to begin another load. "I could be drinking a WKD Blue about now."

She looked and saw the expression on Bob's face. He stiffened as he said, "I'm sorry, you go if you want."

"Oh, I'm only joking with you. I need the work out." She laughed, and Bob smiled back.

There was the tinny sound of a current pop song then, and it seemed to be coming from Rose. "Ooops, sorry. Thats me." She removed the small mobile phone from her trouser pocket and put it to her ear. "Hello? Mum, what do you want? I'm busy."

Bob could just make out the woman's voice on the other end. "Rose, darlin', I thought you were dead or something."

"Dead? What are you an about?"


End file.
